Will
by olansamuelle
Summary: Naevia confronts her enemy in the arena. Crixus is free. She must live. One-shot. AU set after 1x12 'Revelations' with some events from other episodes that did not happen.


**Title: **Will (Naevia, AU, T)

**Rating: **T

**Notes: **originally written for the livejournal community spartacus2010's first comment ficfest. **Prompt**: _gladiatrix, Sicil_y.

**Summary: **AU after season 1, episode 12 "Revelations". Naevia confronts her enemy in the arena. Crixus is free. She must live. So does her opponent tonight.

_**OOOOO**_

The beating she took in Capua had only made her stronger. The love they shared made her fear for his life, and brought determination to hold on to hers. She had made Doctore swear he would not let Crixus have foolish dreams of freedom, but if he knew of her passing, he would seek death blindly and follow her into the Afterlife, if there was any for slaves. What god would want to shelter them? Every night, being so close to death now, that question became more pertinent than ever. The absence of answer was devastating.

In her lonely nights spent in Sicily the slave wished in silence. Often, she wished that the woman she had called Domina all her life had not sent command to be notified when she died, sparing a vicious sneer to her, knowing very well she would tell Crixus the moment she knew Naevia breathed no more.

Other darker days, while she had the wounds of a fight tended and had seen the face of death breathing close on her, Naevia desired she had never fallen for him; this would have never happened, and Crixus' skin would have never been pierced as they ripped their hearts out of their chests with knives, whips and separation.

When she took a life, a part of her died inside, but Naevia tried to banish the darkness and thought of Crixus' victories in the arena, of the crowd, of his laugh and of his smile, just for her. She would never feel such thing in the act of taking a life, she had seen too much injustice in the gladiatorial games to seek glory and honor in being forced to compete in that subterranean arena against other women. This was different. She had heard of the pits. The scum of the sands was sent there to earn their names back or die trying. The games she was forced to participate in brought the slave girls sold from other houses, indomitable women who would refuse to bow and accept their role as slaves. Their will to live blinded them for the life they could have and ignited a feral instinct of survival. Gladiatrix fights were raw, and always _sine missione_.

Crixus often spoke of his lessons learned to fill their time together. One day, half playing, he had shown her a movement with which he had killed Magnus Invictus, the first time one of Solonius' champions had perished under a sword commanded by Batiatus once firm rivalry was set after the opening games of the arena, the last that witnessed Gannicus' prowess and marked Crixus' rising. She killed her first victim with it.

She gave herself to training, body and soul. She had been certain she would never see him again, but she also knew his owners would know of her fate. If she lived, if she survived, Domina would know she had lost, and Crixus would still keep a reason to live.

But tonight everything had changed. While taken to the sand, she had heard men talking, almost babbling, about the horror in Capua, in a ludus. Her heart stilled, and she muted the world around her, desperately trying to listen. Soon she realized it would be easy. Almost everyone was talking about the same thing. Eight nights ago in Capua, a celebration party in the ludus of Batiatus, raised to glory by the bringer of rain. A combat between the ludus' titans, and then, panic, havoc and death. Most gladiators had escaped, only one Roman, a woman, reported alive –she did not hear her name–. She wanted to ask if Crixus was among the dead, but she stilled her tongue. She knew. He would not die. And a jolt of hope had entered her as if the skies had opened for the sun, and she knew he would come to her, and they would be together again.

That night the men of Sicily saw a gladiatrix face death with a smile.

Naevia closed her eyes and breathed, trying to imagine how would it be to lie in his arms again. She remembered his scent, and swore to survive until he found her. She had already made some friends in her new house, one allowed to leave the walls. She would send note, make her name known, fight for her life every single day. But by whatever force that had given them this blessing, she swore she would live.

When she opened her eyes, her opponent was there, waiting.

She had heard of that woman. Fierce, determined. They said she had the Gods by her side, and she always spared a tear for the fallen, as if she killed because there was something she was fighting for other than her life. Naevia did not care. There was no stronger reason to live than love, and she had it by her side, what could the other have to beat that love? Gripping her sword with firm grasp, she flexed her legs, took strong stance on the ground and waited for Sura to attack.

_**Fin.**_


End file.
